


Let it snow

by SrebrnaFH



Series: Srebrna's Sherlock Oneshots [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Kid!Lock, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 22:01:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16648631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: At a winter fair...Written for Sherlock Challenge November 2018 - "White"





	Let it snow

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for November was "White" and so snow was the obvious choice, but then I went a bit into the Snow White territory - white as the snow, red as blood, black as coal...

Snow is white. He hates the snow with all his heart. His panicking, frantically beating heart, pumping blood into his legs, legs pumping away in the snow, trashing through trampled heaps, sliding down tiny little hills formed by cars and people and sleighs.

Hateful, hateful snow.

It is grey in the middle, grey with people's footprints, with marks of tyres, with wrappers and trash dropped by the passer-bys, but on the side of the road, the snow is purely white. It had been snowing just minutes ago, fat flakes falling all over the stupid, hateful county fair and over all these people.

All over him.

All over his brother.

All over stupid, stupid horses that got spooked and run away, dragging heavy sleigh behind them, away from the people, straight into the side alley where his brother was supposed to be standing, because that was where the side window of the town clock shop was and the clockmaker had just put his waterclock on display and Sherlock wanted to see it in action.

So he let him.

Sherlock is a good boy, despite what others would say about him, and Mycroft knew he would be standing there in the ten minutes it took Mycroft to fetch them hot chocolate from the stand on the corner and get back.

Only the horses got spooked.

And there is now only trampled snow in the middle of the small street and white snow on the side of the small street.

White snow splattered with red.

And Mycroft's breath catches, and he can't move.

Because he left his brother here ten minutes ago to get the bloody stupid hot chocolate and Sherlock wanted to see the stupid water clock and he _left his brother right here_ and now there is only that white snow, all white and covered with red droplets.

And he hates chocolate, he hates the snow and most of all he hates the horses. No, most of all he hates himself, because it's all his fault.

It was only ten minutes, no more.

His lips move without him wishing them to, and he whispers his apologies and slowly, dragging his feet, he comes closer to where a small dark figure is lying in an indentation in the snowbank.

"Bloody hell they were fast!"

He jerks away and the person sits up.

"Oh, mother is gonna _kill me_. I am so, so dead."

The boy looks dreadful, drenched with red liquid that had seeped into the front of his thick, creamy jumper. Even his wheat-blond hair is generously doused in red, making him look like a victim of some very weird crime.

Mycroft freezes. He doesn't dare come closer.

"Come on, get up" the boy reaches into the snow and pulls up a much darker, slimmer figure out of the same indentation "Dammit, you're all dirty, too. But at least it doesn't show that much on black. Come on, kid, say something."

"I'm all sticky."

It sounds like angelic choirs.

It sounds like a fairy princess song.

It sounds like his little brother, being a bit cross with everything.

"Yes, you are. You'd better go home and get this cleaned or this will soak through and you will be all glued with it."

"What _is_ that disgusting, horrid thing?"

The blonde boy shrugs.

"Was supposed to be 'like mulled wine but for kids', so I'm guessing half sugar and half artificial colouring. I didn't even manage to taste it."

"You shouldn't," says Sherlock, straightening slowly and breathing with effort. "It looks like someone mixed it with a non-edible dye, actually. No food colouring on the market produces this shade of red."

The boy looks down at Sherlock and smiles.

"And you would know that _how_?"

Mycroft sees his brother's shrug.

"I once bought every type of candy in the store to see what kinds of dyes are used in them. I catalogued them all and checked with the list of registered and permitted food colourings. I have them all now and none of them matches _this_ specific red."

"Oh" the boy grimaces and tries to wipe off the disgusting goo from his front.

"You have some in your hair, too," Sherlock points out with a small grimace. "And I _think_ this is actually a fabric dye, so..."

"Oh, God," the boy moans. "I am so, so dead."

 _No you aren't,_ Mycroft wants to say, _you are both so alive_ , but somehow the words stay unuttered as he watches the two standing there, up to their knees in a snowbank, Sherlock all covered with slowly melting whiteness and the boy - the boy who had, obviously, pushed him out of the way of the running horses and **into** said snowbank - all covered with splashes of bloody red, and they start giggling and Mycroft's knees threaten to give in and he just watches as the stranger works his glove (also sticky and red) off his hand and thrusts it at Sherlock.

"John Watson," he says and Mycroft makes a vow to remember that name forever and ever.

And Sherlock smiles - a little crooked smile, one that almost nobody sees, apart from Mycroft and Mummy - and shakes the proffered hand. "Sherlock Holmes," he says unsteadily, stretching himself to his full height - still shorter than the older boy, but looking him straight in the eye. And he smiles again.

Mycroft doesn't believe in God, not anymore. But he may believe in angels, because John Watson is clearly one of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [my tumblr](https://srebrnafh.tumblr.com/).  
> [My writing blog.](https://fanfik.wordpress.com/)  
> [My handmade blog.](https://srebrna.wordpress.com/)
> 
> Edit (April 2019):  
> I am taking a writing course and one of the tasks is to ask my readers to describe my writing style in 3 adjectives. I'd be grateful if you could provide this kind of feedback :)  
> (if you provided it already somewhere else - THANK YOU! :))


End file.
